


as if we were in love

by SarcasticScribbles



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Marichat May
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:01:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarcasticScribbles/pseuds/SarcasticScribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Marichat May</p><p>The infamous thief Chat Noir finds himself inexplicably drawn to Marinette Dupain-Cheng and begins visiting her home on a weekly basis. Little does he know that by visiting his 'princess' and becoming closer to her, he is making her a target for a dangerous man.</p><p>Thief!ChatNoir x Civilian/UndercoverCop!Marinette</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cat Tendencies

Whatever attracted the criminal to her was beyond Marinette’s comprehension, though she desperately wished she knew so that she could cut it out and he would get lost or, better yet, get arrested. This had to be at least the fifteenth time he had visited her home, without any clear purpose or plan besides, as far as she could tell, annoying her. And while the visits were definitely helping her put an end to the crimes of the renowned Chat Noir, thief of the Paris night, she wasn’t sure if the flirtations and that smug grin of his were worth it. Marinette had been tempted to admit to him on several occasions that he was dealing with an undercover cop, the Ladybug, hero of Paris, and not just some girl who designed for a living. But that would be the end of her career, and he definitely wasn’t worth it. Chat Noir was merely an amateur thief who, in contradiction to his name, got lucky enough not to be caught yet.

Friday night he was back, rapping at her window and drawing her attention from her newest design (and the newest episode of Project Runway playing on the TV screen in her living room). Chat grinned at her and pointed at the window, indicating he wanted her to open it for him. With a too-sweet smile, Marinette set aside her sketchbook, strolled up to the window, and watched with glee as his excited expression shifted to outraged surprise as she tugged the blinds down and pulled the curtains closed.

She knew by now that he wouldn’t give up so easily, but it was worth a shot at least. Sure enough, just as Marinette was settling back down on the couch cushions, a yowl, like a dying animal, started up just outside her window. It continued, warbling and wobbling as it struggled to find the desired note it wished to hit. Giving up, Chat apparently decided to sing off-key anyway.

Serenading his princess, he liked to claim. Marinette called it waking up the neighbors.

“…but I can’t help falling in love with you~!”

She would have laughed at the incredulity of the words, had she not been gagging at the notes. With a groan, Marinette reluctantly stepped over to the window and pulled it open.

“You’re unbelievable,” she grumbled as Chat smugly stepped inside. She tugged the window shut once he was in, crossing her arms in front of her chest before he could grab her hand and kiss it (she learned her lesson by now). “What do you want?”

“Your knight is here to bask in your presence, my princess.” Chat bowed exaggeratedly, flashing her a wink. “And protect you, of course.”  
“A thief? Protecting me?” Marinette rolled her eyes, heading back to her designs. Of all the ridiculous nonsense he had to spout, he had to pretend he was her knight. The things she did to protect her identity… “And I’m not your princess, thank you.”

Chat pouted, pushing back his cat-eared hood to run a hand through his messy blond hair. “Oh paw-lease, purr-incess. There are plenty worse criminals than me. I’m not always the bad guy.” She snorted at that. “And who’s to say you won’t be mine one day? You can’t resist my charm forever.” He flashed her a grin that would have sent any other girl swooning, but merely had Marinette roll her eyes once more before they returned to her sketches.

“Go home, Chat Noir, before I call the cops.” That was a lie, and they both knew it. She would have done it by now if she actually meant the threat. Why she didn’t do it… confused her almost as much as Chat’s returning presence did. After all, it wasn’t like he wanted to steal anything.

Her eyes scanned the sketches, and she blindly reached for her pencil to add a few details. Sticking her tongue out in concentration, Marinette worked at her sketches, ignoring the thief hanging out in her living room.

Which was probably a mistake, in hindsight. Not because of the threat of him stealing something, but because he was as mischievous as his namesake – and couldn’t take not being the center of attention for any longer than his namesake could.

“Marinette~” Chat sat on the floor in front of her, patting her leg gently. “Hey, Mari. Mari. Look at me. Mari. Mari. Princess. Marinette.” When that didn’t work, he batted at her pencil as she drew, earning a two-second glare and a flick to his nose. Chat huffed, rubbing his nose as he strategized. He hadn’t come all this way to be ignored, after all.

Marinette finally set aside her sketchbook, but before Chat could get excited, she lay down on the couch as her gaze returned to the TV screen. Pouting, he crawled up on the couch and slowly wiggled his way between Marinette’s legs and above her torso. Though she seemed captivated by the show, a twitch of her lips and a small glance his way let him know she was aware of his movement. Once he had gotten himself situated, Chat sighed and relaxed on top of Marinette, moving his head in front of her line of sight.

“Purr-incess.”

She scowled and shoved his face out of the way. He wouldn’t give up so easily. With a playful meow, he batted at her pigtails, calling her name repeatedly until she relented, leveling an annoyed glare at him.

“What.”

Satisfied, Chat lay his head on her shoulder, smiling innocently. “Nothing.”

She should chew him out, scold him, push him away from her and out the window. She should call the cops, lock him in the bathroom, even handcuff him herself. Marinette knew she was only encouraging him and his visits. She knew she would regret it later.

Groaning softly, Marinette let her fingers run through his blond locks as she watched her show. Chat, grinning widely, closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, quickly drifting off to sleep from her ministrations. His warm breaths brushed against her neck, sending shivers up her spine.

She could have arrested him then, but the thought never occurred to her. Turning off the TV and giving Chat a soft smile she’d never let him see, Marinette fell asleep beneath him, lulled by his steady heartbeat and his quiet snores.

She didn’t know why Chat kept coming back, but she secretly hoped he wouldn’t ever stop.


	2. In Denial

It was an average heist, the type of which they had done innumerable amounts of times before. There was hardly anything to worry about; the procedure was nothing complex, no strategy was needed. Just pick the lock to the back door, creep in, take a couple things, sneak out and relock the door. Easy. Simple.

Adrien couldn’t remember one time that a job like this had involved talking more than the occasional “over here” or “I got this”. And yet here he was, stuck listening to Plagg’s intrusive questions as they dug through the journalist’s apartment for both valuables and dirt on them (because of everyone, Alya Cesaire was the only person, other than Ladybug herself, who could have possibly come close to finding any clues about Chat Noir and his rumored partner in crime).

The robbery had begun as normal as ever. Plagg had picked the lock, Adrien had checked the hallway and snuck in first, and then they had started looking around, taking anything that could possibly be related to the Chat Noir case.

And then Plagg started talking.

“So… you like her.”

His voice made Adrien look up from the file cabinet he had been combing through and shoot the young man a look. They couldn’t have a nice chat while robbing someone. That just wasn’t how it worked. Especially when that someone was sleeping in the other room.

Plagg waited about a minute before trying again. “I mean, I don’t blame you, she seems nice. Well, I mean, to everyone but you, which makes this a little weird, but y’know. To each his own.”

Adrien tried to ignore him as he shut the file cabinet, a few blurry photos in his hand. He stepped lightly over to the kitchen, deciding to poke around just in case. Plagg followed, and Adrien guessed it wasn’t to be helpful.

He was right. “So are you planning on asking her out, or…?”

Fine. He’d bite. If they got caught, it wasn’t his fault. “Like who, Plagg?” Adrien turned to his partner in crime, crossing his arms.

Emerald eyes dancing with mischief, Plagg grinned. “Your princess, of course.”

Adrien’s eyes widened and heat climbed up his neck. Plagg wasn’t supposed to know about that little… habit of his. If he could really call visiting Marinette once every week a habit at this point. It was really more of a… slow, reluctant friendship (from Marinette’s side), odd and strange and even more so since he was in costume rather than presenting himself as his secret identity.

“Before you ask, I followed you the first couple of times. Then you two kept getting closer and, well, I don’t want details of what exactly you are doing, I just want to know if this is going to change things.” His partner’s eyes narrowed. “Because we had a deal, and I’m not going to let some girl-“

“It isn’t like that, Plagg,” Adrien finally spluttered, cheeks painted a dark red under his black mask. “Look, she’s just… It’s nothing. We’re not dating; she doesn’t even like me,” Plagg snorted, digging through the fridge and snatching a wheel of cheese (his only weakness). “…And even if she did, I wouldn’t back out of our deal. You know that.”

Plagg turned to his partner with an eyebrow raised. “…alright.” His eyes flickered to the kitchen counter, watching an ant crawl along the tiled surface. “But you better be careful. Women are dangerous, Agreste. Trust me. They get you under their thumb and by the time you realize it…” He squished the ant under his thumb. “I’d hate to see you go down like that.”

Adrien shook his head, tying up his sack. “Relax. Nothing like that would happen to me. I don’t think about her like that, and I won’t.”

Plagg sighed, stepping over to the door and pulling it open. “If you say so. Now hurry up. I want my cheese.”

Adrien laughed, following his partner out the door and locking it shut behind him. Plagg was just worrying too much. Calling her princess annoyed her, so he did it because she was cute when she was annoyed. Cuddling was, well, that… It was enjoyable. He was just taking advantage of the situation, that’s all. It didn’t mean anything. He wouldn’t get squished.

…

Adrien was squished. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t… well, he could probably move if he tried, but he didn’t want to risk waking Marinette, who had fallen asleep on the couch beside him after he had wedged himself between her and the couch while she was reading. He had snatched the book and insisted reading it to her, and somewhere between drawing reluctant (rewarding) laughter from Marinette after making silly voices for the characters and being seriously sucked into the plot so much that he had to know what happened next as much as she did, they had fallen asleep, Adrien squished with his head pressed into the back of the couch, arms trapped to his side as Marinette took up as much space as her majesty desired (she would argue that it was her couch and thus her space, and he would tease back that she just wanted to drape herself over him). Funnily enough, he had never been more comfortable, listening to her loud snores echo throughout the room and feeling her chest rise and fall with each breath against his back.

Then again, his arm was falling asleep. Adrien huffed and, as slowly and gently as could, sat up to adjust their position. The minute he did, Marinette’s head was where his had been as she somehow took over the entire couch with her small frame. Adrien had to hold back his laughter as he stood up and picked up the blanket that had fallen onto the floor. With a smile, he placed it over Marinette, then brushed a few stray bangs from her face and tucked them behind her ear.

His breath caught in his throat, and he knew he had to leave. The soft curve of her lips was enticing, the slope of her jaw entrancing, the sleeve just falling off her shoulder alluring in the most dangerous of ways. She was beautiful, this he already knew, but seeing her like this, peaceful and gorgeous, was a sight he hadn’t been able to appreciate before. And now that he had, Adrien knew that the image was burned into his memory.

Whispering good night, he darted out of the window and dashed from rooftop to rooftop, chest heaving and heart pounding. He kept running until he reached his hideaway, then turned and looked back at the sleeping city. He wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to run straight back to Marinette and kiss her.

But he didn’t like her like that. It was just the moment. He was caught up in it. Tomorrow it would be the same. The next visit would be the same. Nothing changed, nothing started, nothing meant anything. He didn’t like her like that.

From inside, Plagg watched knowingly as Adrien paced in front of the door, fingers running through his hair as he muttered to himself. He chuckled sadly, shaking his head as he stood to open the door.

“Poor kid’s already under her thumb…”


	3. Injured

Tikki was no fool. She had worked with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, or Ladybug, since they had graduated from the academy, and had known her even longer than that. She knew by now when the girl was hiding something from her, and Tikki was determined to find out what it was. It shouldn’t be too hard, anyway. Marinette, save for the Ladybug secret, was a terrible liar.

She had first noticed things getting strange a couple months ago. Marinette was grumpier on the job, with visible bags under her eyes and a snappy word for anyone that wasn’t Tikki. Coffee seemed to help, but she still wasn’t herself. It was odd, seeing the usually perky girl grumble and growl as she worked. Tikki would have shrugged it off to hormones, but Marinette was more of a crier than anything else in those situations. So it had to be something else.

Eventually, her attitude changed, the bags under her eyes slowly diminishing, and Tikki had been ready to chalk it up to nothing but insomnia. Marinette would smile as much as she had been, she apologized for her attitude during the past few weeks, and she even brought in cupcakes to make up for her words. Everything was back to normal.

Then they got the Chat Noir case, and everything changed.

The minute the file was handed to them, the criminal’s name plastered in thick letters across the manila folder, Marinette’s expression shifted from peaceful happiness to first shock, then wide-eyed fear. Her skin had gone pale and her hand shook as it held the folder.

Tikki couldn’t understand it. What was it about Chat Noir that had Marinette on such an edge? Surely she didn’t fear the thief. She and Tikki had been up against the murderers and psychopaths and worse; Chat Noir was a boy who wanted to make a name for himself in all the wrong ways. He just stole. There was nothing to fear from him.

So if not fear for her life, what was it about the Chat Noir case that had scared Tikki’s partner so much that she had stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the day, claiming to feel sick all of a sudden? Tikki wasn’t one for confrontations, but if it came down to it, she might be forced to demand answers from Marinette. She hadn’t thought it was getting to such a drastic point, but something was definitely up.

That night was proof enough that things might be worse than she could have ever imagined.

…

It had started out normal enough. Ladybug and Tikki had been patrolling the streets of Paris, chatting amiably and just about to call it a night, when the window from a building across the street shattered and two men in black hopped out, holding burlap sacks and dashing straight for the cops. Marinette’s heart just about stopped when she saw the cat ears on top of one man’s hood, and Tikki’s eyes narrowed on the bright green bowtie around the other man’s neck. Acting on instinct, Tikki pulled her gun out of her holster and cocked it, aimed straight at Chat Noir’s partner. Marinette reluctantly followed suit, shakily aiming her gun at Chat Noir’s heart. She had never felt so sick.

Tikki waited until the men were in range, then called out. “Hands up! Drop your weapons!”

Marinette watched as two pairs of green eyes looked up, wide as they saw the girls standing on the street with guns pointed at their chests. Immediately they skidded to a stop, passing a glance between each other. Chat Noir had a pistol at his hip, she knew, and she could see the flash of a knife in Chat’s partner’s hand, no sign of a gun. She didn’t think Chat would put up much of a fight, even in this situation – “I’m a lover, not a fighter, princess” – and while she wasn’t sure about the man beside him, she figured he wouldn’t be too much of a struggle once the knife was out of his hand.

A lump formed in her throat as she realized that this was it. This marked the end of Chat’s visits. This marked the end of Chat’s thievery. This marked the end of the case. Normally she would be ecstatic, eager to finish up and go home, letting justice win once more. Normally, though, she wouldn’t be face to face with fearful green eyes that could look at her like she was the world. For weeks Marinette told herself it wasn’t true, that he didn’t mean a word he said, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it was. If he found out it was her all along, that his princess was the one who would arrest him… what would he say?

Her stomach twisted painfully, and she chanced a glance at Tikki, who didn’t return the look. Her bright blue eyes had locked, in a pointed glare, at Chat’s partner, as if she knew the man and couldn’t stand him (which Marinette could believe; even Tikki had a past she didn’t share).

Chat’s voice broke the silence. “My Lady, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He plastered a crooked grin onto his face and started to move his hands to his hips until Marinette cocked her gun, making them shoot back up and show his palms to the cops as if he were innocent. He was talking to Ladybug of course, having often playfully called her his Lady while discussing her with Marinette – “Not that that means anything, my princess. You’re the only girl for me, after all” – and for a moment, she was worried he had known all along who she was. But no, he wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t have come back if he did.

“You were told to drop your weapons,” she snapped, hoping he didn’t hear the tremble in her voice. “Now. Tell your partner.”

Chat’s grin dropped, and with a glance to the guns, he nodded at his partner. “Plagg, you heard the lady.”

Plagg sneered and stooped to set down the knife. Marinette tucked her gun back into her holster, reaching for her handcuffs. “Chat Noir and… Plagg, was it? You two are under arrest-”

Everything happened at once. Plagg jerked up, the knife still in his hand, and charged, hissing under his breath, “I’m not going down without a fight.” Marinette saw the flash of metal barreling towards her, a cruel grin and bright emerald eyes that were too dark and too old, and the panic that flashed through her partner’s and Chat’s eyes. She could have sworn she heard Plagg mutter “Good riddance, princess,” under his breath, but the scream ripping from Tikki’s throat drowned out any certainty. She heard a gun fire with a loud bang, the sound ringing in her ears and making her head swim; she smelled gunpowder, but the scent was soon overpowered by cigarette smoke hanging off of Plagg’s jacket. Warm, sticky blood trickled over her hands as her sight suddenly went dark, cigarette smoke suddenly giving way to fresh pine and a cologne she knew too well, a cologne that clung to her couch cushions and pillow and helped her sleep on the nights he didn’t visit. She clung to Chat, waiting for the pain to hit her, willing herself to stay conscious when it did, but it never came.

With a jerk, Marinette pulled back to see Plagg staring at his knife, covered in not her blood, but Chat’s. Her hand held the thief’s side, crimson liquid trickling between her fingers. Plagg dropped his knife, jaw working as he tried to say something to his partner. His face was pale and the sneer on his lips had disappeared as his expression shifted to shock and guilt. Without a word he bolted, disappearing into the night.

Tikki covered her mouth, her gaze, wide and filled with tears, flickering between her partner and Chat Noir. “I… I missed…”

Marinette stared at Chat, who merely gave her his signature grin and backed off, arms dropping from where he had them protectively wrapped around her and moving to grasp at his side. “Well, my Lady, i-it’s been fun, but I really must be going…”

“You… you’re hurt…” she choked, unable to believe it even when the words hung in the air. Chat, for as long as she had known him, had seemed incapable of feeling pain, and now he was there, bleeding and hunched over, yet still grinning as if to soothe her worries. Guilt churned in her chest and twisted her stomach painfully; without thinking she reached out to stop him, to look him over, just to make sure he would be okay.

He waved her off and started to hobble off after his partner, clutching his side. “It’s just a scratch.” With a wink and a grin that was more of a grimace than anything else, he added, “I’ll see you around, my Lady. Take care of yourself.”

Marinette began to stumble after him, still shaky from shock, but Tikki held her back, shaking her head. Biting her lip, Marinette settled for focusing on breathing steadily as her mind finally caught up to her.

“He saved me…” she whispered, staring at Plagg’s knife. “…why?”

…

Marinette couldn’t fall asleep that night, too busy pacing in her living room and worrying over the thief with gash in his side. Where would he go? Would he be alright? What if it was serious? What if he died? She would never know, she didn’t even know his name, and he could be dying and it was her fault. She should have been more careful, never should have put her gun away, should have… should have…

A rap at her window tore her attention away from her pacing. Heart racing in her chest, Marinette scrambled over to the window and shoved it open, relief seeping through her veins when she saw Chat Noir standing there, grinning just as brightly as ever.

“Well hello, princess, were you waiting-“

“Get in.” Marinette grabbed his hand and tugged him inside, shutting the window behind him. Chat could only stare, surprise replacing his smugness for a moment. Frowning, he cupped her cheek, observing her red cheeks and tear filled eyes.

“What’s happened, Marinette?” he murmured, his thumb brushing a stray tear off her cheek. “Are you hurt?”

She choked on a sob, leading him over to the sofa and gently pressing him down. “I-I… heard on the news… you got stabbed…”

It was a lie, but it was the best she could do to explain her worry and tears and fear when she shouldn’t know a thing. She could only hope he didn’t have easy access to a TV. Realization flashed in his eyes, and she could tell he was holding back his teasing – “Worried about me, princess? I didn’t know you cared” – since she was so upset. Instead, Chat wordlessly tugged off his hoodie and lifted his shirt so she could see the gash. The bleeding had stopped, luckily, and Marinette quickly grabbed her first aid kit to help him. It was the least she could do.

“T-This’ll sting..” she murmured as she cleaned out the wound. Chat was a surprisingly good patient, sitting still save for the occasional flinch or twitch, keeping quiet as he watched her work. He did hiss and look away when she sewed the skin back together, but other than that he was silent. Marinette was thankful that she at least knew what she was doing (adventures with Nino; him and his bright ideas); it wasn’t long before she was finished. Chat didn’t speak until the bandage was wrapped around his torso and she was putting away the first aid kit, his hand resting on Marinette’s shoulder.

“It’s only a scratch, Marinette. Don’t worry about me.” He cracked a smile. “I’m the bad guy, remember?”

She frowned, placing her hand over his as her eyes locked with his. “…Tonight you were a hero.”

Marinette could have sworn he blushed at that, pulling his hand away to rub the back of his neck. When the first aid kit was put away, she sat at the other end of the couch, hiding a smile as he poked her playfully with his feet. Without warning, he sat up and twisted around carefully, then laid his head on her lap. Unfamiliar heat climbed up her neck as Marinette ran her fingers through his hair, murmuring softly until his breathing evened out.

“Maybe… you’re not such a bad guy, Chat Noir.”


	4. Protective Chat

The door slammed shut behind him as Adrien stormed into his and Plagg’s hideout – a small, abandoned house in the slums of Paris that no Frenchman would ever admit existed – and shed his signature cat-eared hoodie. His blond hair was a wild mess, his emerald eyes blazing fire as he searched for his partner, who sat, calm and expectant despite his pale display last night, at a small wooden table, swallowing the last of his Camembert snack.

Plagg regarded his partner silently, fluorescent green eyes looking over the bandage peeking out from beneath Adrien’s shirt as his chest heaved, likely sucking in oxygen after running back to the hideout. Plagg had watched, from the solace of shadows, as Chat Noir once again snuck into his princess’s home, retreating to lick his wounds in the comfort of her arms. And maybe it made sense that Adrien wouldn’t come back to the hideout after his own partner stabbed him, but it wasn’t like it was Plagg’s fault, either. He wasn’t the idiot who jumped in front of a cute cop to keep her from getting hurt. And what was that, anyway? Plagg never saw Adrien as someone who would stoop so low as to go after two girls at once… especially one that a pair of handcuffs with his name on it (even if they were the same person). Had he figured out that the princess he was currently bothering every week was also the famous Ladybug, determined to throw him into prison?

“You said no one would get hurt.”

It was worse than he thought. Adrien was simply a terrible criminal. With a sigh, Plagg rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You ran into-“

“You tried to kill her!” Adrien snapped, hands slamming down on the table. “She could have been seriously hurt, or, or died, and… how did you expect me to live on like that, knowing that my own partner killed a cop and I did nothing to help her?! Of course I got in the way, and I’d do it again if it came down to it!”

Plagg frowned, adjusting his green bowtie. “First you go off to court some princess, and now you’re taking bullets for a cop. What is with you? You said you could do this. We had a deal-“

“And that deal did not include killing people to get away with this, Plagg!” Adrien ran a hand through his hair, sighing through his nose. “I… You know that’s not me. It has nothing to do with Ladybug being cute and you leave Marinette out of this; I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“What did you think was going to happen, kid? You agreed to help me; ten years, that was the deal. Now you’re risking your life to save cops and whoo some princess, who, by the way, is incredibly dangerous, and… Are you trying to get yourself killed? Arrested? Just to get out of the deal?”

Adrien shook his head. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?!” Plagg finally snarled, shooting up from his seat. “Because it sure as hell seems like you’re trying to get out of this, and I am not losing my partner just because he got soft on some girl!” He jabs Adrien’s chest, scowling. “You are not going to leave me, dammit. I already lost… I… I’m not losing you too.” His shoulders slumped as his gaze dropped. “I… I can’t lose anyone else…”

Realization dawned in Adrien’s eyes, and it was about time. It was hard enough seeing Tikki again after so long and such a hard parting of ways, and honestly, he hadn’t wanted to hurt Ladybug either, but it was either her or him and Adrien. She was stealing his heart already; he couldn’t have her take Adrien away completely. Plagg wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Plagg… you know I can handle myself, right? I’m not a kid anymore. I know the ropes by now. I’m not that sixteen year old you picked up off the street anymore…”

He collapsed into his chair again, running his fingers through his hair and tugging harshly. “…I brought you into this life, kid. And if I were to… If you got caught… went to jail… that’d be my fault. And I can’t let that happen to you.”

Adrien sighed, pulling up another chair to sit beside his partner. “Plagg, I’ll be okay. A few more years, and then Chat Noir disappears forever. Then Adrien Agreste can appear and… teach physics or something.” Plagg snorted at that, and Adrien smiled, leaning his head on his partner’s shoulder. “But you have to promise me something.”

“I will not stop eating Camembert.”

Laughing, Adrien shook his head. “No, not that, just… promise me you won’t hurt anyone else.”

Plagg sighed. “I’ll do my best.”

“And stay away from Marinette.” Blinking, Plagg looked at Adrien, his eyes meeting hard emerald ones. “You didn’t actually think I didn’t follow you on your ‘midnight walks’, did you? You’re checking her house out, like you do for the hit list.” Adrien sat up and crossed his arms. “Marinette and her valuables are off limits. You don’t touch her, her house, or her stuff, or I will personally deliver you to the station downtown.”

Plagg raised an eyebrow. “..She really means that much to you?”

His scowl broke into a soft smile. “She’s… she’s my Camembert, Plagg.”

Oh. That was serious. Therein lay the problem. Adrien’s princess had him under her thumb, and she had the power to squish him. He had no idea. Plagg had tried to tell him once he figured it out, but Adrien refused to listen. Discussing his princess, other than the occasional gag-inducing (from Plagg’s end) sigh and the dopey smile that would play on his lips, was forbidden. He still claimed “it wasn’t like that”, but that argument was quickly falling apart. She had stolen Adrien’s heart, whether he knew it or not.

What good would it do to tell him, anyway? Plagg had known Adrien for years now, and the last thing he wanted was for his ki… partner to turn out as heartbroken and lonely as he had. As much damage as this princess of his could do, the truth would probably hurt Adrien the most. And that was the last thing Plagg wanted to do to his partner. Hell, it’s why last night had shaken him so badly. Adrien’s blood on his own knife. Was it a sign? An omen? Nothing but selfless stupidity on Adrien’s side and reckless abandon on his?

Nevertheless, sign or stupidity, he had hurt his partner, and Plagg vowed that it would be the last time he did such a thing, as long as he could help it. So he stayed silent about Ladybug’s identity, and let Adrien continue to woo his princess to his heart’s content.

Still, Plagg didn’t like the idea of not checking out the premise. Ladybug was an enemy, a cop. He had to stick around and have his partner’s back. And yet… she had done nothing to arrest him thus far. Maybe… Adrien would be okay? He was right, he wasn’t a kid anymore. Plagg couldn’t help but be careful, though.

The irony was Adrien was more concerned about the harm Plagg could do to her. If only Adrien could see that Plagg was protecting him, and Adrien protecting his princess, Ladybug herself, from a well-meaning friend was simply a death wish. Or at least, hoping for a jail sentence.

With a sigh, he leaned back into his chair. “…Fine. I’ll leave her alone. But you better watch out. You’re still a criminal, after all.” Adrien nodded and held out his fist, which Plagg reluctantly pounded.

What was a thief to do?


	5. Protective Marinette

“Have you ever gotten hurt like that before?” Marinette asked the next week, idly running her fingers through his hair as they lounged on her couch once more. She had no work to do that night, a miracle of miracles, and used her time off to snack and rest with Chat Noir snuggled up on top of her. The thief opened his eyes – her petting constantly lulled him to sleep, she noticed – and tilted his head up to stare at her.

“Once or twice, princess. Comes with the job.” He winks and pretends to flex for her. “Don’t worry. Your knight can handle-”

“Was it bad?”

Chat had seen the same worry swimming in her sky-blue depths last week while she patched him up, and he had already decided it was a bad look on her. His princess should always be happy; he would do whatever he could to ensure that. But they both knew he was a lousy liar – only when it came to Marinette; she read him like a book and he didn’t mind in the least bit – so he would answer honestly.

With a sigh, he lifted both his hoodie and his shirt to show a jagged scar running from his sternum to his navel, a mark he had intentionally hid from her last week. Upon seeing it Marinette gasped, covering her mouth with one hand as the other reached out, as if to touch it and confirm the scar’s reality. “This is the worst I’ve ever gotten hurt, Marinette. I was new to the job and careless, and I paid for my mistakes.” She whimpered quietly and Chat was quick to add, “But I’m fine now. It’s just a scar.”

Hesitantly, she touched the mark, running her finger from one end to the other. Chat shivered under her touch, watching her closely. Finally she met his gaze, hand resting on his stomach.

“Promise me you won’t do it again,” Marinette whispered, tears pricking her eyes. “Promise you won’t… don’t you ever come through that window again, bleeding and dying and scaring me half to death. I’ll… I’ll call the police if you do! I’ll arrest you myself! I’ll… I’ll…” Silent tears slid down her cheeks as she turned away. “What if you hadn’t come? If you never…”

“Princess…” Chat murmured, gently brushing his thumb against her cheek to swipe away her tears. “Don’t cry over me, alright? I’m purrfectly fine. I’ve got nine lives, remem-”

“You’re not an actual cat, you idiot, don’t you understand that you could have died?! And I wouldn’t have known! You would have died on your own in the middle of nowhere and I would have stayed here, waiting forever for you to come and you wouldn’t you’d never come back and I’m not losing you because of your stupid selflessness!”

Two pairs of eyes widened at the words as a bright pink color dusted across their cheeks. It was one thing to know, in their own odd ways, that they cared for each other to a certain degree. Marinette, for her part, had admitted before that she didn’t hate Chat Noir – that didn’t mean anything, she had claimed, just that she probably wouldn’t call the police that night – while Chat had flirted as long as she would allow before throwing him out of the window. The idea that they would, or could, lose each other was something neither had spoken of. The thought had never occurred to them, until now. Now, when Marinette realized that had he been seriously injured, she would have lost her black cat.

She would have lost the friend that had wiggled his way into her heart, and that scared her more than the fear of losing her own life that night. She made a promise to herself that night, that no matter what, as much as she could help it, no harm would come to Chat Noir. Criminal or no, he was her friend, a good one, and she refused to ever witness him bleeding again. So maybe all the information they had tracked thus far on Chat Noir had mysteriously disappeared. So maybe Plagg’s knife had vanished from the evidence locker. So maybe she was sort of kind of maybe helping him get away with it so that no one would go after him and hurt him. He was her friend, and she always protected her friends.

Finally, after a long moment of silence, Chat smiled softly and, wiping the last of Marinette’s tears away, murmured, “Purrhaps I can try to be a little more careful from now on… just fur you, purrincess.”

“This is no time to joke-”

He cradled her jaw, forcing her eyes to lock with his. “I know, Mari. I can’t promise you nothing will happen to me. It will. I’m a thief, after all. But… if it worries you so much, I will do my best to be as careful as I can.”

Marinette swallowed thickly, placing her hand over his. “…I can’t lose you.”

Heat climbed up his neck at her words. “Y-You won’t, princess. I’ll always come back to you.” She still looked upset, so he flashed her a wink. “Aren’t you lucky? The great Chat Noir, coming to woo you every week. Won’t your neighbors get jealous?”

A smile threatened to curl her lips, but Marinette fought it as best she could. “I don’t want to have to bandage you up ever again… okay?”

He nodded, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. He could have sworn she blushed, but that was probably just a trick of the light. “It’s a paw-mise.”

Marinette groaned and shoved the laughing thief off the couch so he wouldn’t see her smile. To think she actually cared about this pun-loving criminal… Her eyes flickered down to the floor and caught his emerald gaze, smile wide and eyes gleaming.

Well. Who could blame her when Chat looked at her like that?


	6. "I Like Someone Else"

Ladybug and Chat Noir met again weeks later, this time partnerless, on a dark, quiet night on the rooftops of Paris. Chat held no bag tonight, though his pistol remained at his side, and he seemed as if he was merely going for a casual stroll that night. He may as well have been, and Marinette wouldn’t put it past him, but that didn’t change the fact that he had stolen in the past and was a wanted criminal. It was her duty, as an officer, to take down Chat Noir. She had done more than enough to make up for his protection earlier, she felt, what with all the “missing” files and basically starting over on his case. It was time she did her job. She steeled herself and slowly reached for her gun.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Chat’s voice cut through her focus, making her look up to see him observing the starlit sky, arms crossed over his chest and gun still sitting at his hip. He seemed relaxed, unconcerned even, as if he knew she was hesitant to arrest or, God forbid, shoot him. He appeared to know, with the utmost confidence, that he was perfectly safe around this renowned officer. That or he simply didn’t care if he was caught or not.

Odd.

Ladybug approached slowly, hand resting on the hilt of her gun as she followed his gaze. He was right; it was a beautiful night. The Eiffel Tower lit up on the other side of the city, the lights reflecting off of rooftops and dancing over the sky. Stars mimicked the bright lights, creating a shimmering, shining array of lights spinning and swirling across the Paris night. Even with all the light, though, the city was quiet, asleep. Occasionally one could hear a stray dog barking or a car alarm going off, but for the most part, Paris was serene and silent.

“It is,” she admitted, raising her gun to aim at his back. “You should take a good look, Chat Noir, because it’ll be the last you see of the night sky for a long time.”

The thief raised an eyebrow, glancing at her over his shoulder. Seeing her gun, he lifted his arms in surrender, slowly turning around to face Ladybug. The officer frowned, confusion swimming in her eyes. He was giving up so easily?

“I don’t mean any trouble tonight, my Lady,” Chat said quietly, thoughts appearing to be elsewhere. Ladybug scoffed at that, reaching for his gun while keeping hers aimed at his chest. He took a step back. “And I’d rather not leave here injured. I promised Ma- …someone I wouldn’t be so reckless.” His gaze softened and flickered back out to the night sky. “I won’t scare her again.”

Ladybug’s heart leapt into her throat, the hand reaching for his gun dropping as she stepped back. With wide, watery eyes, she stared at Chat, unable to believe what she was hearing. He wasn’t fighting back… risking his life… because she asked him to be more careful? He actually… listened? Even if it meant he’d be arrested, jailed, forgotten, Chat had listened to her.

Maybe he really did care…

Clearing her throat, Ladybug started to take his gun again. “This girl must be really special to you, huh? To make you willing to give up so easily-”

“She means everything to me.” Chat’s hand collided against her wrist, knocking her gun out of her grasp. Unarmed, Ladybug started to back away to a more defensive position, swinging a protective uppercut as she moved, but Chat caught her arm and before she knew it she was pinned on her back against the rooftop, staring up at none other than the self-proclaimed great Chat Noir. He grinned and she felt herself blush under her mask.

Chat’s eyes, glowing green from beneath his hood, flickered over her body, observing their position with amusement. He had pinned her arms above her head with one hand, the other resting next to her side as he straddled her waist. Ladybug twisted and turned and bucked beneath him, but couldn’t push him off. Grunting, she watched him carefully, waiting for him to reach for his gun.

He never did. Instead, Chat leaned down until his nose brushed against hers, that infuriating smirk pulling at his lips. A hot blush flooded her cheeks at the proximity, eyes momentarily flickering beneath his nose. Confusion and excitement fluttered in her stomach. Was he going to…?

“You have quite beautiful eyes, Bug. Blue like a warm summer sky, without a single cloud to ruin the day. I could fly in that sky forever if I could, or simply bask beneath it if nothing else.” Ah, there was the poet she had begun to see after so many visits. The shyer, sweeter boy beneath the hood, not just the smirking, flirting criminal she had grown so fond of. The boy she was slowly starting to care for more than she would ever admit, to herself or him.

After gaping for a moment – he thought her eyes were pretty wow okay – Ladybug managed a breathless response. “Is that why you… does that mean you…?” Did he like Ladybug? But what about Marinette, his “princess”? Did that mean nothing? Was he just… did he not…?

With a wink, Chat sat back. “Sorry to disappoint, my Lady, but I’m afraid I like someone else.”

Relief soothed her fears, followed quickly by disappointment and fear. “Wh-Who..?”

Chat Noir laughed. “Someone too special to be interrogated by a cop. So you can forget it.”

She wanted to know. She had to know. Who was this someone special? Was it his princess? Someone else? Did he go to other girls’ houses and make weekly visits? Did he cuddle with them? Did he let them play with his hair? Did he read them stories as they fell asleep on his lap? Did he open up to them, let them see the shy boy who’d occasionally sing songs or recite Shakespeare or write them poems? She had thought for so long now that she was special, that she meant something, that she had really been his princess, and now she was faced with the fact that she had absolutely no idea where he went or who he saw. She didn’t even know what number she was.

It hurt. It clenched her chest painfully, made her breath quicken, made her eyes prick with tears she was quick to blink away. Officers don’t cry, especially in the presence of the enemy. She just had to hold it together. For now. She could interrogate later.

“And here I thought I was the only lady in your life.” Ouch.

Chat smiled a little knowing grin. “Oh, I have many ladies, Bug, but I only have one princess.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.” Chat flashed her a wink, then landed a swift strike against her neck with the side of his hand. Pain shot behind her eyes as they rolled, black spots quickly overtaking her vision until there was nothing but inky blackness swallowing her. Chat whispered an apology in her ear as he lifted the unconscious Ladybug into his arms. The last thing she remembered was his breath tickling her ear.

Marinette awoke some time later, groggy, nauseous, and aching, on a bench not far from the police station, a torn blanket draped over her shoulders and a little bottle of Tylenol in her hands. On her hand, scrawled in neon green marker, was a note from Chat.

“Sorry for the pain, my Lady, but I had to get going. Cat-ch you later.”

“P.S. You drool.”


	7. Adrien Posters

Marinette was not home when he came to visit. Of course, he didn’t realize this at first. The window had been left open, as she had started to do after several complaints from her neighbors about her cat (so she claimed; he liked to believe she was growing fond of his visits), so Chat had snuck inside and shut the window, as usual. Once he was inside, though, he noticed the lights were off and Marinette was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t laying on the couch pretending to sleep or watch TV just to ignore him for a little longer, she wasn’t in the kitchen cooking up something delicious that he would beg her to share just a morsel with him, she wasn’t in her bedroom asleep or at her desk working on her newest design.

It was Friday night, their night together, but she wasn’t home. Had she forgotten? Or worse… not cared? Maybe she had a date tonight. The thought made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his jaw clench. Okay, so maybe Marinette wasn’t really “his” yet… but the last thing he wanted was some nice, well-dressed rich man showing up and stealing Chat’s princess. Oh sure, that Mari-stealer would know his manners, and smile real charmingly, and maybe even kiss her hand as he said goodnight – and how dare he, that was Chat’s thing, not his – and she’d giggle that sweet laugh of hers and fall for it, fall for him, because who on earth would choose a poor, stealing alley cat over a rich guy with a steady job?

Marinette deserved better than both of them, but at the very least she deserved more than Chat could ever offer her in his lifetime.

Still. He wasn’t very good at sharing.

He would interrogate Marinette next week. For now, he would go home and lick his emotional wounds – ignored, unwanted, not even warned she would be gone and probably left for some stuck-up snob in a suit – and work up the courage to support her had she actually started to date someone. It wouldn’t be easy.

Chat had never meant for it to be serious. The pet name “princess” had simply come to him off the top of his head and he used it because it fit; Marinette was a princess, kind and honest and beautiful. He wasn’t sure when the possessive “my” started to appear before the pet name, but he liked the sound of it, the reassurance that whatever it was they had together, it was theirs, and for the night, they were each other’s.

He promised Plagg he wouldn’t be squished, but he soon discovered that it was far too late for warnings. He was falling fast and falling hard for this girl with sky blue eyes that he could soar through for ages, with a wide, brilliant smile that lit up her room, no, the whole of Paris, at least in his eyes. He came more often just so he could be with her, even if they were simply sleeping or watching TV. He wanted to learn everything about Marinette, from her favorite fabric to work with, to how many puns she would endure before wrinkling her nose (or, if he was lucky, shooting one or two back). He wanted to hold her hand as they walked through the park, carry her across rooftops and show her the brilliant Paris night sky, and maybe even, if miracles truly happened, kiss her cheek as he bid her goodnight. He would daydream of Marinette during the day and long for her during his work, so much so that Plagg had started to complain (as if he had never been in love before and didn’t see the point). His lips would start to linger on her hand a bit longer than necessary, and his cuddling would bring him as close as she would allow. If Marinette had noticed his sudden desire to be near her, she didn’t bring it up.

The fact was he was completely and utterly under her thumb by now, and if she was out with someone else, he knew his heart would shatter. So maybe it was best if he didn’t know where she was right now.

He wouldn’t ask. Marinette had her own life. If she didn’t like him like that, he would… well, he wouldn’t be okay, but at least he would live and do his best to support her – and commit murder should the snob decide to break her heart.

Chat was just about to leave, when out of the corner of his eye he saw his name. Curiosity got the best of him, and he stepped over to Marinette’s desk. A mug half-filled with what smelled like coffee and a phone blaring the last number called in bright red letters sat on the desk next to a wanted poster. Chat lifted the poster and looked over it.

Wanted by Paris Police Department for repeated acts of robbery and attack of an officer of the law. Goes by the alias Chat Noir. The details of this thief are largely unknown. From all previous reports we believe the thief to be male and wearing a cat-eared hoodie and black mask. If seen, report in immediately to the following number…

Chat held the poster limply in his hands, staring at it in disbelief. A lump formed in his throat as his eyes flickered to the phone laying on the desk and the phone number it displayed, desperately praying to every deity he knew that it wasn’t true, there was no way she had done this because at the very least, they were friends and friends didn’t…

It matched the number on the wanted poster.

Marinette had called the police.

…

Marinette was absolutely exhausted as she walked to her apartment, hoping for nothing less than to flop face-first into her mattress and sleep the rest of the week away. Her shift today had been long and exerting, one chase down the streets after the other. She couldn’t understand why every criminal was so set on running. It would be so much easier if they just gave up; no one would be tired, no one would have to dodge traffic, and no one would get tased. See? Easy. Why couldn’t they understand that?

With a sigh, Marinette leaned against the elevator wall, waiting to reach her floor. Today was Friday, right? Chat Noir would come to visit. Maybe she could convince him to give her a massage… or maybe start a bubble bath for her to soak in for the next month or so… heck, she’d be happy if he’d give her a break from those ridiculous puns. Yes, that seemed like a plan. No puns tonight since she was exhausted. He would understand.

It took a moment for her weary mind to process the thought process. It was Friday afternoon. Chat always visited on Friday night, so she had left her window open. She had been going over Chat’s files, looking at the wanted poster (and laughing because they knew so little before guilt replaced her mirth since she was the reason they knew so little), when the station had called. Myléne was out sick, could Marinette please come in and take her shift? She was supposed to be done before Chat usually came home, so she agreed and went out. The shift took longer than it was supposed to. Too many calls, not enough officers available, and who better to do the job than Ladybug herself? By the time she was finally headed home, it was almost ten. Chat always came around nine.

Her eyes widened and she stood up straight, exhaustion suddenly disappearing. She had left the window open. Chat was in her house, alone, and she had left the wanted poster out on her desk.

Oh no.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Marinette raced down the hallway to reach her room. She fumbled with her keys and swung the door open, letting it slam closed as she sped inside. The living room window was closed and locked, as Chat always left it when he came in. A few blankets and pillows had been tossed aside on the couch – no doubt he had been looking for her – and her bedroom door was pushed open. Marinette stumbled inside, hoping that maybe he hadn’t seen it, hadn’t noticed, had gone home some other way or was playfully sleeping in her bed.

Chat stood by her desk, staring at the poster he held in one hand and the phone he held in the other. His emerald eyes met hers accusatorily, as if waiting for her to make her excuse (or begging her to prove his suspicions wrong). Marinette stared back, mouth dry.

Finally he spoke, his words dripping with spite, a tone she had never heard him use before. “I thought we were friends.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. “C-Chat, it’s… it’s not what you think..”

“Are you sure? Because I think you reported me in. I think you gave me away. Are they on their way now, princess?” He looked over her shoulder, as if searching for a group of officers behind her. “Huh? How long until they get here? Were you told to stall?” Marinette couldn’t answer, silent tears dripping down her cheeks as she weakly shook her head. Chat scowled and shut the door behind her before pinning her against it. His hot breath brushed her face as he glared down at her. “Answer me, Marinette!”

She desperately tried to come up with something, anything to tell him that wouldn’t betray her identity. He didn’t know she was an officer. He didn’t know she was working a shift tonight. He had no idea she was Ladybug, and that’s why the wanted poster was on her desk. What excuse could she give to satisfy him? What could she say to make him trust her again?

“I… I went in… interview,” Marinette manages, wiping desperately at her tears. “R-Reports of stranger… coming in window… neighbors were worried…” She was lying to him again, but it was better than the alternative (at least, she kept telling herself that). What else was she supposed to do?

Chat’s eyes widened as he stumbled back. “You… didn’t call the police?” She shook her head, watching as guilt filled his expression. “Oh, I… Marinette, I’m so… and I thought you…”

He watched, distraught, as Marinette slid down the door and sobbed into her hands. Not only had she upset him, scared him into thinking she had faked their entire friendship to turn him in, but now she was lying to him just to keep her identity a secret. Was it really worth it to lie to him?

It was. It had to be. If this was how he reacted to the idea of her calling the police, there was no doubt in her mind that he would absolutely despise her if he ever found out she was Ladybug. Chat would think she was just trying to get close so she could take him in. He would never trust her again, never want to see her again.

She never wanted that to happen, but she hated having to lie to him.

Marinette felt Chat move beside her, but refused to move her hands from her face. He didn’t deserve such an awful, deceiving friend who was practically working behind his back to put him behind bars. Times like these, she wished she never decided to be an officer. It would have made life so much easier.

Chat lightly held her wrists and carefully, as if fearing she would fall apart if he applied too much force, drew them from her face. Marinette stared up at Chat with wide, guilty eyes, the same guilt that was reflected in his own green eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Marinette,” he murmured, his thumbs stroking soothing circles against her wrists. “I should have known… I never should have accused you of reporting me in.” Marinette attempted to argue, to insist that he was right, she was the enemy and he should yell and scream and leave, but ended up only hiccupping. Before she could blink Chat drew her into his arms, holding her close as he rubbed her back, letting her sob into his shoulder. She was vaguely aware of him whispering into her ear, but the words blurred together to a low, lulling hum. He rocked her a little, swaying Marinette in his arms until her breathing calmed.

The rest was a blur, her exhaustion from the long day and the sudden swell of emotion getting the best of her. She remembered bits and pieces, the feeling of Chat’s hoodie pressed to her cheek replaced by a cotton pillowcase, the smell of Chat’s scent disappearing and missed, the brush of lips against her cheek with a murmured apology. She tried to apologize as well, but he had ignored it with a shake of his head. On his way out, she had a moment of clarity, a moment prompting her to say something incredibly important. Lifting her head from the pillow, she had called for him, and Chat stopped, waiting.

“Please… come back…” Marinette begged.

He had looked surprised, and had he been closer, she surely would have seen tears in his eyes. True to his image, though, Chat grinned, shot her a wink, and promised, “I will, princess. Your knight will always return.”

Marinette awoke the next morning alone in her bedroom, with a single crimson rose laying on her nightstand.


	8. Dancing

The lead of her pencil scratched against the paper of Marinette’s sketchbook as she jotted in a small detail beside the dress she was drawing. Of course, she knew that this dress would never become a reality, but she could hope. Designing had been a hobby for her since she was a child doodling skirts on hippos with sidewalk chalk on a hot summer day. Of course, she had never pursued the interest, instead following her dream of enforcing the law as the best woman officer in all of Paris (few would deny that she had achieved that goal). Still, she liked to draw in her spare time, sketching beautiful outfits that would never grace the streets of Paris. Perhaps one day she would retire from being Ladybug and remain Marinette, a simple fashion designer.

Ladybug had been Tikki’s idea; her partner had claimed that leaving her civilian identity a secret kept her safer from revengeful or pestering criminals (and heartbreak, but Marinette doubted she was supposed to hear that part). Unfortunately, Chat Noir, seemed to prefer to unknowingly ruin those plans of safety by finding and befriending Marinette, though at this point it didn’t seem to be such a bad thing. Her eyes flickered down to the hallway where Chat had claimed to be resting (she had heard him moving around and knew the cat was up to something).

Honestly, she was just glad that everything was alright now. Though she wasn’t exactly sure what had happened to return things back to normal; the making up part (as well as the night she had burst into tears) being much of a blur to her. Trying to recall only brought hazy, reassuring smiles and a rose being placed on her pillow by a gloved hand, which she knew was before they made up, and crying, lots of it. Maybe it was better that she couldn’t remember it very well. At least things were back to normal now.

Suddenly, soft music played down the hall, as if a tiny music box had been wound up and set to play tinkling chimes as a little ornament spun around on its top. Marinette stood up from her spot on the couch, setting down her sketchbook and padding down the hallway in her fluffy black cat slippers (that Chat hadn’t said anything about, thankfully, but he had shot her a smug look when he saw them). Crimson rose petals were scattered across the floor, leading her down the hallway. They disappeared at the door to her room, which was left open just a crack, enough to let the music filter through and dance throughout the house. Marinette pushed open the door to spot Chat standing in the middle of a pile of rose petals, beaming widely at her.

He held out a hand, pushing his hood down with the other. Wild blond hair framed his face and fell into his emerald eyes as Chat grinned at her hopefully. “May I have this dance, my princess?”

How could she say no to that face?

Her eyes flickered to the music box playing away on her desk, sitting on top of a wanted poster with Chat’s name outlined in thick letters. For a moment, guilt churned in her stomach, but her gaze soon fell onto the candles lighting the room and the rose petal heart on her bed and finally returned to Chat’s grinning, expectant face, and she couldn’t find it in herself to feel guilty.

Look, they were okay. They were fine. He was flirting again, smiling again, and for tonight, they would go back to normal. Why couldn’t she just enjoy this with her best friend?

Though maybe all of this was a bit much…

“A-All this for me?” Marinette asked, stepping up to Chat as her hand slid into his outstretched one. If possible, his face lit up more as he curled his arm around her waist and she wound hers around his neck. His breath tickled her lips and she tried not to dwell on the thought. They were finally working things out. She didn’t need pestering feelings to ruin what they were fixing.

“But of course, my princess. Only the best for you.” Of course, he wasn’t helping her case. The whole room was incredibly romantic, as if he had read through her diary and knew exactly what type of setting would send her falling into his arms. Still, Marinette did her best to tame her rising blush as he swept her around the room.

They danced in time with the music, around and around the room. Soft laughter drew them closer, whispered puns and playful glares settled Marinette’s racing heart, and when he dipped her back, a smirk tugging at his lips, she knew it was far too late to stop any of her rising feelings, despite hoping to return to the status quo. She had fallen for this alley cat, and the thought brought a light pink blush to her cheeks. Chat seemed oblivious as he guided her upright once more and they continued to dance.

Under the spell of the softly playing music, Chat and Marinette twirled for hours, her arms around his neck and his around her waist. With each breath, their chests brushed together, with each step, they drew impossibly closer, but neither chose to point it out. They danced until the sun began to rise in the horizon and the music at last trailed off to a stop, the spinning ballerina stopping in her spinning and retreating back into the box. Marinette stared up at Chat, wondering what on earth he could be thinking behind those shining emerald eyes. She got her answer soon enough, though, as he began to lean in, closing the gap between their lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered before their lips touched.

“Forgive me,” she begged in response.

A shared breath, their mouths connected, and her eyes fell shut.

Marinette woke up to her screeching alarm clock, feeling even more alone than when she had fallen asleep. Her chest heaved as she tried to collect her thoughts, swallowing one deep breath after the other to calm herself and keep her tears at bay. Of all the dreams she could have had, she had to dream of them, of him. It broke her heart once again, but she promised herself not to cry. She had shed enough tears before going to bed, after realizing he wasn’t coming that night (and she had waited and waited for him, hoping, praying, begging for Chat to knock on her window again or serenade her or just smile, just once more, at her and tell her that they would be okay but how could they be when he hadn’t come in two weeks?). Swallowing thickly, Marinette hit the snooze button of her alarm clock and pulled the covers over her head.

On the pillow beside her, the crimson rose he had left for her wilted away.


	9. Movie Night

Crumpled up tissues spilled out of the trashcan beside Marinette’s bed and pooled onto the floor. An assortment of medicines, from cherry cough drops and grape Nyquil to herbal remedies her mother had sworn up, down, and sideways would work without fail, covered her nightstand. On her desk, her radio droned out the evening news between interruptions of crackling static. A small fan at the end of the bed blew cool air across her feet, which stuck out from the large comforter trapping her body heat within to offset the cold wind.

Marinette clenched her eyes shut for what seemed the billionth time that day, willing away the pain hammering against the back of her skull and coursing across her back. The sickness had kept her in bed all day, sneezing and sniffling and wondering if the past two weeks spent crying in her bed were better or worse than physically feeling as bad as she emotionally felt. Her hair was strewn across her pillow, a tangled mess falling in her eyes and mouth and adding to the wanted yet unwanted heat.

She weakly touched the dead petals of Chat’s rose, tears brimming in her eyes once more. Even as awful as she felt, nothing was worse than the painful squeezing in her chest at every thought of Chat. Her entire home had changed because of him, and without him, it was empty and hollow. Once meaningless tasks like cleaning the dishes or vacuuming the floor left painful reminders of Chat with bubbly hands or a droning vacuum chasing Marinette around the house (because as much as he intruded, he strangely loved to help with menial chores). A familiar song left echoes of his wailing, playful singing and their laughter-filled dancing throughout the room. The couch cushions still smelled faintly of his scent, and she would be lying to say she didn’t press her face to the sofa the first week just to pretend he was there. In sleepy, sick-induced hazes she would imagine Chat combing his fingers through her hair and calling her his princess just one more time.

Marinette made a thousand promises, promises to never pretend to hate his puns and to laugh at his corny jokes and to never ever rebuke him for the nickname she admittedly liked. She swore she would let Chat have all of her attention whenever he wanted, to cuddle or read or watch movies together, anything as long as she wouldn’t be alone like this again. It was impossible for her to remember how she had ever managed like this in the first place; life without Chat hardly seemed a life at all.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of knocking, a heavy tap tap tap that only increased the ache in her head but also filled her heart with hope. The sound was quite right to be coming from the door, and she faintly remembered the sound from months ago, before she had left the window open for an alley cat to creep inside whenever he wished.

Marinette slid out from her mountain of blankets and slipped her feet into her black cat slippers. Groaning and shaking, she wrapped a large blanket around her shoulders and shuffled to the living room window, hoping, praying that he would be there and everything would be okay.

Her bluebell eyes landed on the window, and behind the glass, a sheepish, shy grin and two shining, emerald eyes made her heart sing and banished her fear to the previous weeks. He was there, he was really there, cat-eared hoodie and everything. Swallowing around the lump in her throat (from sickness or due to being at the edge of tears, she wasn’t sure), Marinette unlocked and pushed open the window. The night air cooled her flushed cheeks and she took a step back, waiting expectantly for Chat.

He didn’t come in immediately as she assumed he would (as he used to, almost too eager to storm inside her house as if it was his), instead he stood, waiting, eyeing her carefully. Chat seemed hesitant, his mouth opening to ask something, then shutting as he changed his mind. Marinette had never seen him so subdued before. It was different and wrong and she had half a mind to tug him inside herself before he quietly asked, “May I come in?”

Her jaw dropped and his cheeks turned red (or was that her imagination?). Had things changed so much that he felt he had to ask? Was she supposed to act differently as well? She had assumed that as soon as he came back (though the thought was quickly changing from certainties to what ifs and maybe he wouldn’t come backs) that they would go back to normal, him with his flirtations and puns, and her with fond eye rolls and caring from a safe distance, both cuddled together and joking and laughing. Chat seemed to think differently, though, and it put her on edge. Were they starting over again? Just as soon as she was starting to feel flutterings in her chest when he spoke and her stomach would twist in a painfully good way at every glance his green eyes sent her way? Was he pulling away, cutting it off? Did he just come to say goodbye? Marinette bit her lip hard, tears pricking her eyes. “I… o-of course, I… I opened the window, didn’t I?”

Chat nodded slowly and carefully ducked inside after another moment of consideration. He closed the window once he was inside, then looked over Marinette once more in the better lighting. His gaze held for a second longer than normal on her black cat slippers, a smile flickering across his face. It took him some time to take in her pajamas and the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and at last his eyes met hers, a frown pulling at his lips when he realized how flushed her cheeks were despite her pale appearance. He opened his mouth once more, likely to ask if she was sick, but shut it again. Chat reached out for a moment, like he would lift her up and carry her back to bed and her heart skipped a beat for the brief second as she begged him silently to do it, to hold her and never let go again, but his arms dropped just as quickly as they lifted and her hope plummeted.

He never thought his words through so carefully before, nor had he ever hesitated to touch her. It was as if he was dancing around her, afraid of upsetting the fragile atmosphere he was concocting in his mind. His worry was frightening her, making Marinette afraid that something really was wrong with them, that she should be careful and that things really weren’t as well off as they should be. The thought that they might never return to normal scared her more than anything else. Marinette tried to say something, anything, to relieve the awkward stares and silence, but nothing came to mind. What should she say? What could she say? She didn’t care why it had taken him so long. She didn’t care that he was late. She didn’t even care if he had spent the past two weeks with someone else while she cried herself to sleep. All she wanted was her friend back in her arms, promising her that everything would be okay.

Would everything be okay?

Marinette’s stomach churned painfully, her fear-filled eyes meeting his for a moment before a cold tingle ran down her spine and she rushed off to the bathroom, Chat hot on her heels. Kneeling in front of the toilet, she heaved, absently noticing Chat bending beside her. His fingers ran through her hair and pulled it out of the way, one hand rubbing soothing circles against her back.

She was exhausted when at last the sick feeling passed, shudders running through her body. Chat moved quickly, washing off her face and helping her clean up, then lifted Marinette into his arms and carried her back to bed. Her head lolled against his shoulder, too tired to enjoy the precious seconds he held her. He set Marinette on her bed and tucked the blankets around her, working as if he had done this a million times before. Setting a wet washcloth on her forehead, he checked her temperature and convinced her to take more medicine, murmuring soft words that she couldn’t understand but calmed her nonetheless.

Chat darted out of the room once more, returning with Marinette’s laptop and a stack of movies she had told him once (how long ago now?) were her favorites. Without a word, he joined her on the bed, resting the laptop on his lap as he started up the first movie.

Carefully, still scared yet almost desperate for contact at this point, Marinette edged over to Chat and lightly leaned her head against his chest. His gaze darted down to her in surprise, then a smile curled his lips as he wrapped an arm around her. She sighed and relaxed against him, listening more to his steady heartbeat than the movie.

Halfway through the movie, Marinette was already falling asleep, her eyes falling shut as her fingers curled in Chat’s hoodie. She took a deep breath, smiling as she recognized his scent. Before drifting off, though, she had to ask, so she lightly tugged at his hoodie, bringing his emerald eyes back down to her (or had they ever left? She was too tired to check).

“Are… are we okay?” Marinette whispered, fear and hope threading through her voice. Chat didn’t answer immediately, and she began to wonder if she had actually spoken or if she had imagined it in her fever-induced haze when he finally replied, tone soft and sweet as his fingers tugged through her hair.

“I hope so, my princess… I hope so.”


	10. Nightmare

The bar was empty that night, save for the tender and Plagg, who sat at a table in the corner of the room, sipping at the last of his drink. Adrien had once again gone to Marinette’s after weeks of sneaking into home after home, letting his guilt tear himself apart until Plagg finally forced him to spit out the problem. It had been years since he had last seen the kid cry, but last night it was as if he was a scared sixteen year old again, bawling and curled up on the floor of their hideout. Years with Tikki had surprisingly prepared Plagg for this, though, and soon he was able to cheer up Adrien with enough confidence to go make up with his princess (dangerous she may be, but he never wanted Adrien to be heartbroken). Once his kid had left, Plagg went to the nearest bar to think and clear his head, knowing that any thoughts of Adrien’s princess would remind him of soft blue eyes and cherry red hair, of a life before this one.

Tikki was from another world, it seemed like. He was better off now, he told himself. He was free, for the most part.

He wasn’t happy, though.

The door opened with a soft jangle, but Plagg didn’t bother looking up as he twisted the ring on his finger. What he wouldn’t give to be happy again, to be with her again. Tikki always knew what to say, what to do. She would reassure him that they could get through this, that it was just a small bump in the road, and then send him to bed even though she would stay up late to try to fix what he had ruined.

There were just some things even Tikki couldn’t fix.

Someone jostled his table and Plagg hurried to catch his glass before it fell. Looking up, his emerald eyes landed on a large, burly man in a leather jacket, his bald head covered in a devious black butterfly tattoo. To anyone else, the tattoo would have made them laugh and perhaps mock the man, but to Plagg, the mark sent shivers of fear up his spine, the hairs of his neck standing on edge as his gaze flickered to the door. Another man, the butterfly tattoo on his bicep, stood next to Plagg, placing a formidable hand on his shoulder to keep him in his seat.

A man in a dark purple suit sat down across from Plagg, a sickly sweet smile on his face as he folded his hands and placed them on the table. A dark butterfly insignia was stitched over his chest.

“It’s been a while, Monsieur Plagg,” he started, eyes flickering over the green bow tie and the cat charm on Plagg’s wrist. “I hear you’ve been busy.”

“Not long enough, Hawkmoth,” Plagg muttered, wondering for a moment where the bartender ran off to.

“Well then let’s hurry this up, shall we?” Hawkmoth snapped his fingers and was handed a manila folder, which he opened and spread across the table. “As per our original agreement, you have paid off thirty five percent of your original loan. Your next payment is due in two weeks, and I expect it to not be late again.” Plagg nodded, eyes scanning over the rows of numbers adding up the money he owes. “Good. We wouldn’t want a repeat of Tikki, now would-”

“You know Tikki’s gone!” Plagg snapped, fire in his eyes as he looked up from the pages to glare at Hawkmoth. “You drove her away from me!”

The man merely smiled at Plagg’s infuriation. “It was you who yelled at her. It was you who stole. It was you who drove her away. I may have been your motivation, but you did all the work.” Plagg slumped against the seat, defeated and tired as he dropped his gaze back to the file. “I would hate the same fate to fall to the famous Chat Noir.”

Plagg curled his fists, nails digging into his palms. “…It won’t. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Or Mademoiselle Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Hawkmoth continued, smirking, and Plagg jolted at the name. “Ah, yes, I know all about Chat Noir’s visits. Seems he’s found a nice princess to woo into a sea of danger. Let’s just hope you can keep your head afloat so she doesn’t drown.”

Grinding his teeth, Plagg nodded reluctantly. It would mean protecting someone set on arresting him, but for Adrien’s sake, he would do it.

Hawkmoth closed the file and handed it back to one of his men. “I think we’re done here, then. I’ll see you in two weeks.” He stood and passed his men, pausing to look over his shoulder. “As a precaution, however, let’s remind Monsieur Plagg what will happen to him and his loved ones should he decide to not bring me my money.” His men grinned at each other, the one holding Plagg’s shoulder heaving him to his feet and guiding him outside (he didn’t resist, he’d learned his lesson a long time ago). Hawkmoth followed them to the back door, then stopped, smiling. “Two weeks, Notre Dame. Don’t be late.”

He shut the door.

…

Plagg returned to the hideout later that night and found it empty, Adrien nowhere to be found. Assuming he was still at Marinette’s, Plagg pulled his aching body, every muscle screaming with pain, to his cot. Under his pillow he kept a first aid kit for these meetings, and after shrugging off his torn shirt (with a painful yowl that would have alerted several people had anyone been around) he began treating his wounds. A gash across his chest was bleeding, the blood trickling across his skin. Bruises lined his stomach and he prayed there was no internal damage he couldn’t fix without a doctor (not that praying would do much for someone like him). His arm was out of socket but that was an easy fix, easily popped back into place with only a small hiss (he was used to that one by now, joints out of socket did less damage than broken bones, and while Hawkmoth wanted to threaten, he still wanted his money and knew it wouldn’t come should Plagg become hospitalized).

When he was done he swallowed a pill for the pain and lay down, letting his eyes fall shut. Maybe it was better Adrien wasn’t here. Plagg hadn’t told him about these meetings and didn’t want him to know. Any injuries he sustained were brushed off as minor, only being fixed up once Adrien had fallen asleep. What would he think, knowing Plagg was beaten simply to be reminded of the nightmare he was living through, of the hell he was being tortured in? Knowing Adrien, he would insist on going to the meetings himself, taking the pain for Plagg, who wouldn’t stand for that. His kid was too selfless for his own good. One day it would get him killed.

With a sigh, he turned his head to see Adrien’s empty cot. At least he had found some happiness. That’s all Plagg would want for him, a happy life without stealing and hiding from the law and hoping they will have enough money by the end of the week. Marinette seemed, despite the Ladybug identity, like a good friend for his kid. At least, she cheered him up.

Adrien could continue to live in his dream world with his princess, Plagg decided. He deserved it. If it hadn’t been for him, Adrien probably would’ve already been married and living a happy, normal life. So he could have all the dreams he wanted, even Marinette, and maybe one day, it would become reality. Plagg could only hope so. At this point, he had forgotten what it was like to dream, peaceful and happy and hopeful. All he had left were fear-filled nightmares.


	11. "I Almost Lost You"

Sunlight streamed through the window the next morning, warming Marinette’s face and rousing her from her peaceful sleep. With a soft yawn she rubbed her eyes, looking around her bedroom. Chat was nowhere to be found, the laptop and movies from last night set on her nightstand. It seemed he had cleaned up a bit; her assortment of medicines were missing from her nightstand, save for a cup of water and a couple white pills, and her overflowing tissue mountain had been dumped into a trash bag neatly tied up and ready to be placed in the dumpster. The washcloth on her forehead was still cool and wet, so Marinette assumed he had changed it for her. She was still sick, her body trembling and achy and hot to the touch, but she no longer felt nauseous and took that as a good sign. Sitting up, she stretched until her back made a satisfying pop, then quickly swallowed the pills left for her.

She was just settling in to get some more sleep when it hit her. The unmistakable sound of oil spitting and crackling in a pan, and the mouthwatering scent of bacon being fried to crispy perfection and eggs sizzling away until the whites are cooked through, the yolks soft and runny like a golden pool. Her stomach rumbled at her as she breathed in the smoky smells, and with another yawn, Marinette slid out from the warmth of her pile of blankets and slipped her feet into her black cat slippers, snatching a smaller blanket to wrap around her shoulders as she slowly stepped out of her bedroom.

Tikki must have come to visit, she guessed. She had a spare key, and knew Marinette wasn’t feeling well. How kind of her to come and make her breakfast, though if she knew that Chat had been there the night before, perhaps, Tikki wouldn’t be so hospitable. Honestly, Marinette didn’t deserve anything but disgust from her friend, since she had been the reason for all the lost information in the Chat Noir case and she was the one shamelessly spending her nights worrying about and crying over and dreaming of a criminal. What did that make her, a cop who couldn’t even muster the courage to put a man who had wormed his way into her heart, a man who did nothing but steal (and flirt and smile at her until butterflies fluttered in her chest), behind bars? Nevertheless, breakfast sounded (and smelled) amazing, so Marinette made her way down the hallway to her kitchen, wishing she wasn’t quivering and hurting so much and hoping the guilt would eventually recede.

“Ah, up at last, princess?”

Marinette jolted from her thoughts, blue eyes snapping up to meet Chat’s emerald gaze. With a soft grin, he looked her over, holding a spatula in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other and wearing one of her pink aprons over his hoodie, his unruly hair particularly messy this morning likely from sleep. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or stare; he looked so ridiculous, and yet, he was still here. He hadn’t left last night. He stayed.

Her heart skipped a beat. 

“How’re you feeling?” Chat continued, scooping the eggs and bacon out of the pans and setting them on two plates. “You look a little better.”

He had been gone so long that simply hearing his voice caught her breath in her throat. He seemed much more comfortable today, as if he had realized that she hadn’t held his absence against him and simply wanted his company, but the return to normalcy was confusing her more than his awkward presence had last night, so much so that she merely continued to stare, holding her blanket a little more tightly. This was real. He was here. She could smell and hear and see the food, she wasn’t waking up to another night of tears and desperate promises; Chat was here.

With a soft cry Marinette surged forward, tears pricking her eyes. He didn’t hate her. He didn’t leave her. For so long she had been afraid to dream he would ever really come back, and yet there he was. Night after night she had watched the rose he left her wilt away, running different situations in her head to explain why he wasn’t there. Eventually the excuses dwindled to the simple thought that he didn’t want to be there anymore; he didn’t like her, didn’t want to be around her, and must hate her. Her fear nearly drove her to panicked madness, her bed being the only safe place for her to curl under the covers and pretend he was right there, grinning at her like she placed the sun in the sky and ready with a pun on his tongue for whenever she popped her head out. She never did, never wanted to admit to herself that it wasn’t true. She never wanted to believe she had really lost him, even though everything around her screamed she had.

She had been quiet for a while, so Chat glanced back at Marinette to see what was wrong. “Are you oka-” With a grunt, he looked down to see her clinging to his torso desperately, sobbing against his chest. Setting down the milk he had been pouring, Chat curled his arms around her, cooing softly to soothe her. His fingers danced reassuringly over her back, lulling her to a few soft sniffles.

“I almost lost you,” Marinette whispered against him, nuzzling the pink apron he wore. “I was so scared…”

Chat frowned guiltily. “Marinette… I could never leave you forever. The knight always returns to the princess, and this cat will always return to you. I promise. I’m sorry it took me so long to come back. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

She peeked up at him, eyes red and puffy. “I’m glad you’re back. I… I missed you.” Pink dusted her cheeks at the confession, but she managed to hold his gaze.

Chat smiled at her, brushing away a stray tear from her cheek. “I missed you too. And I promise, I won’t do that to you ever again.”

Marinette buried her face back in his chest, sighing contentedly. Everything would be okay, she decided. As long as he would come back, everything would be okay.

Chat belonged with her now.


	12. Sleep Talking

The evening rain pattered against the window, drumming a soft beat against the glass as if knocking, inviting those inside to come join the dance of the rain as it fell to the earth. In the distance, thunder rumbled, warning of a greater storm soon coming to ruin the playful rain’s fun, but for now it was free to frolic beneath the clouds overhead, landing on flowers and leaping from leaf to leaf, splashing onto blades of grass and sliding down to the soil, and gathering on the windowsill to ripple in tiny puddles on the marble.

Tikki had been in the middle of reading her book, a “cheesy romance novel” as Plagg liked to call it (but he loved cheese so she firmly believed he liked the books as much as she did) when Plagg stepped into the room, running a hand through his hair as he yawned. Tikki glanced up from her book to watch appreciatively as he threw her a tired grin and tugged off his shirt. With his dark black hair now mussed and perfectly disheveled in a way that fell across his eyes just right and the new view of his toned chest that invited her eyes to dip lower until they yearned for more, Plagg settled next to her on the bed, laying his head on her stomach as he sighed softly.

He must have been exhausted from work, and Tikki knew that, but she also knew that this position was an open invitation to touch and talk to her partner, so she set down the book for a moment to run her fingers through his soft hair. Plagg let out a happy noise that sounded dangerously close to a purr as he settled against her stomach, his eyes falling shut from the soothing brush of her fingers through his hair and against his scalp.

“How was work?” she asked as he relaxed against her. He groaned and nuzzled her stomach, sending little giggles bubbling from her lips until she tugged lightly at his hair.

“Hours upon hours surrounded by cheese, and I’m not allowed even a nibble,” he mourned, peeking an eye open. “You have it so easy.”

“As if you could last the academy with all your laziness,” Tikki teased, blue eyes lighting up as he laughed softly, unable to deny the light jab. “Was it busy today? You look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted.” Plagg yawned again, postponing the inevitable for as long as he could. “…I nabbed a third shift.”

Tikki’s smile fell. “Plagg, we talked about this-“

“And I told you, I can handle it. Don’t go worrying over nothing.” When her concerned frown didn’t leave, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles. The corner of her mouth twitched, and he sat up to press feather-light kisses across the bridge of her nose until Tikki giggled happily, spluttering his name as pink dusted her cheeks. He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his fingers absently playing with her bangs. “I know my limits, Sweets. Don’t worry about me.”

“You know I can’t help that,” she murmured, drawing his head down to catch his lips for the briefest of moments. “But I’ll try. As long as you promise to get plenty of rest.”

Plagg winked, making her heart leap to her throat – really, she should be used to that by now – before he settled his head on her stomach again. “I promise, I promise…”

Tikki smiled sweetly and dragged a blanket around them both, then lifted her book to continue reading as her other hand brushed through Plagg’s hair to lull him to sleep. It worked like magic, the room soon filled with his soft snores as his breath fluttered against her stomach. She sank back into the world of romance her book created for her, hardly noticing her sleeping partner or the wind picking up outside. To her, all was quiet and peaceful, perfect for the end of a busy day for the both of them.

“F’r us… f’rg’ve…”

The words were mumbled under his breath, slurred and broken from a mouth that didn’t want to move when the tongue felt so loose in unconsciousness. Perhaps the mind could only take so much stress and internalize so much guilt until the truth came out in a waterfall of jumbled words. Perhaps this was his subconscious’ way of making him feel better, as if he hadn’t held anything back, hadn’t lied, hadn’t hidden from her. Perhaps it was simply genetics kicking in at the worst possible moment. Tikki had been reading the last chapter of her book when he started talking between his soft snores. Deciding the conclusion to the fantasy romance could wait, Tikki set aside her book and gently ran her fingers through Plagg’s hair once more.

“What was that?” she cooed, playing with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck just as he liked it (after years of him stubbornly insisting he hated that little trick of hers that turned his legs to jello, she finally got him to admit that yes, he did greatly enjoy it – though it took a lot of cheese and a bit of wine to push him to that point). “Did you say something, Sunshine?”

He had talked in his sleep before and sometimes responded to her questions fairly well (though at times his answers were interrupted by babbling nonsense), his dreams often about chasing the “biggest cheese wheel ever” or something along those lines. What Tikki found she loved the most (and why she never admitted to him that he did it) was that in his sleep, Plagg was absolutely sweet, tossing around pet names and words of love for her that were a rare occasion when he was conscious (not that he wasn’t sweet when awake, he was in his own Plagg-like way, but in his sleep it was obvious to the point of over the top). So whenever he did start mumbling away, she made sure to interact and enjoy this rare side of Plagg while she could.

“Sw’ts,” he murmured, and she had to fight down a giggle. “You… I l’ve you.” He paused, as if thinking. “You… ev’rything. M’everything.”

Tikki smiled softly. “I love you too, Plagg.“

“Love you, sug’r,” he sighed, shifting in his sleep. “M’sweet c’kie dough…”

If Tikki had been holding any sort of grudge against him, that was all thrown to the wind now as she giggled as quietly as possible to not wake him. While everything he said slipped together and was interrupted with yawns or long pauses of the unconscious trying to dip back into complete sleep, she had been with him long enough to understand and to fall in love all over again with her adorkable partner. This was worth all his stubbornness, laziness, and grumpiness, because she knew he loved her and would do anything for her.

A light blush dusting her cheeks, she absently brushed her fingers over his jawline, marveling how lucky she was to be with Plagg despite everything that had happened, despite struggles and hardships and pure exhaustion. He stood by her and she stood by him.

It seemed like he was done, since he went quiet for a while. Tikki had finally turned off the light and was starting to doze off when Plagg spoke again, his voice soft and laced with guilt.

“Do… f’r us.” Tikki opened her eyes, worried at how heartbroken he sounded. Was he having a nightmare? What on earth about?

“What was that?” she asked, dread curling in the pit of her stomach as she waited for his answer. It was just a dream. This didn’t mean anything. So why did it feel like it did?

“Bit o’ money…” he slurred, tightening his grip around her. “Pay it back… ”

Tikki laid a hand on his cheek, stroking the skin soothingly to ease away the bad dream. Because that’s what it had to be, right? Just a bad dream that was making him shake against her but made no sense because it didn’t mean anything. Yet her actions only upset him more and he cried out loudly, unintelligible babble as he tossed and turned as if that would ease the guilt weighing on his chest. Tikki shushed him and cradled Plagg to her chest, pressing soft kisses against his cheek and rubbing his back until his cries softened to a pathetic mumble she wished she hadn’t ever heard.

“F’r the ring… ‘s for the r’ng...”

…

Plagg stared at the only picture he had left of the two of them, one taken when they were still in high school, still afraid to tell each other how they felt but as close as they could be nevertheless. Tikki’s arms were slung around his neck and her cheek pressed against his as he took the picture, shooting the camera a lopsided smirk that could hardly rival her happy, beaming grin. His fingers traced her smile, shaking as a few tears splashed onto the fading picture.

That was then. This was now. He had to move on. Plagg cleared his throat and stuffed the picture back into his pocket. The rain always brought these melancholy feelings back, reminding him of the last day they had together before everything fell apart. Though Tikki never told him how, she had discovered both the ring he had gotten for her and the contract he made to Hawkmoth, as well as a wallet that did not belong to him. She confronted him and he lashed out, defensive and angry from exhaustion after a long day of work and from embarrassment and shame for being caught red-handed. She had thrown them all at his feet, ring, contract, and wallet, and walked out of the house.

She never came back.


	13. Possessive Kitty

Thunder crashed as rain pelted against Plagg’s skin, and for once he wished he had gotten a cat-eared hoodie of his own. His hair was plastered against his forehead and rain dripped from his chin. The storm had grown worse than he had anticipated before travelling through the city, the wind picking up and the rain coming down harder than ever. Nevertheless, he pushed through, ignoring the flashes of lightning and growling thunder as he walked through the deserted Parisian streets. When he stopped at last, he was staring at an apartment complex he had grown to both hate and appreciate.

Memories of Tikki had forced him here, to protect what he could not bear to lose, the only one he had left in his life. If Adrien would not listen to his warnings, then he would take matters into his own hands. He would find out what Ladybug was planning.

His plans, however, were postponed when he realized Chat was still there. Soft music drifted from the window he peeked into as the two danced slowly, Marinette wrapped in a large blanket and pressing her face into Chat’s chest as he held her close. They swayed along to the music, and even through the rain Plagg recognized the look of pure adoration on Chat’s face. It was a look he had on his own face years ago, when Tikki would fall asleep on his shoulder or get bubbles all over her face while washing dishes or simply give him a smile from across the room. It was a feeling he had forgotten after years of sleeping alone again and losing everything in a desperate attempt to pay back a debt he never should have had. It was how he knew that his boy’s heart would break, no matter how much Plagg tried to prevent it, no matter how hard he fought or argued or threatened. He couldn’t keep Adrien from falling in love.

Eventually Chat carried a sleepy Marinette to bed, whispering something in her ear that sent her giggling and pushing at his chest. Plagg watched them disappear, and after a few minutes Adrien reappeared, a soft grin pulling at his lips, Plagg ducked around the other side of the building and waited until Chat had left the apartment and was several streets away before returning to Marinette’s window. He pushed it open and stepped inside, grimacing at the puddle he was making on the carpet. Deciding he could never intimidate Marinette while looking like a drenched rat, Plagg searched for a towel and dried himself off. The key was to make himself at home. Don’t look uncomfortable, take control of the situation. This wasn’t her house anymore, it was his. He stepped into the bathroom, fixing his hair, straightening his bowtie, checking his teeth. He set the towel around his shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked over to the bedroom.

Marinette was fast asleep, snoring loudly and drooling on her pillow. A humidifier buzzed softly on the other side of the room, and a wet washcloth was placed on her forehead - by Adrien, most likely, given his background. Crumpled up tissues surrounded the overflowing trashcan by her bed, and Plagg almost felt guilty for doing this to her when she was feeling awful. What would Adrien think if he knew his partner had gone behind his back to threaten his princess, the girl he had fallen in love with? What would Tikki think if she knew he had fallen so far as to use a young woman’s sickness against her? Would he have done the same to her?

Shaking the thoughts aside, he flicked on her bedside lamp, moved her desk chair over to the bed, and sat down, arms crossing in front of his chest. Marinette stirred as the light hit her face, then groaned, sleepily opening her eyes.

“Chat, what’s…” She gasped and sat up, fear flickering in her eyes at the sight of Plagg. He threw her a cocky grin, taking her fear and using it to his advantage. Sick and sleepy, she wouldn’t think straight. Her emotions would be a tangled mess, and he would be portrayed as a much larger threat than he actually was.

God, when had he become such a monster?

“Sorry to disappoint, princess,” he sneered. “But you and I should have a chat.”

Her gaze flickered to his hands as she edged away on the bed, breath coming out quickly. “A-About what?”

“About this little game you’ve been playing with my partner.” Plagg’s eyes narrowed. “I know who you are, Bug, and trust me, I am not amused. So tell me.” Metal flashed and in a heartbeat, his knife was pressed against her throat. “How long do you insist on toying with him?”

Marinette started to shake, though he could see the slightest flash of stubbornness in her eyes. There was Ladybug, calculating a way to take control of the situation. He needed to hurry before her fear was lost to determination. “There’s no game. Didn’t you talk to Chat?”

He pressed the knife harder against her skin until he drew a drop of blood. Marinette flinched, a shudder running up her spine. “Don’t lie to me. Why string him along? What are you hoping to accomplish? Are you as heartless as you are spineless?”

She lashed out, catching his jaw with her fist before he pinned her down, snarling a curse as his blade sliced against her neck. Marinette cried out and held still, blood dripping down her skin. She shot him a glare that could kill. “You think you’re the only one who cares about him? Chat is my friend-”

“I wouldn’t call the person you are currently trying to arrest a friend,” Plagg growled, fed up with her lies. “You’re not fooling me so why won’t you give it up? How long will you play with his heart before you break it?!”

“How could I when I love him?!” Marinette yelled. Her face, originally flushed with anger, paled when she realized her confession before heating up once more in embarrassment. Plagg stared at her, shocked and confused.

She… loves him?

Plagg pulled back, thoughts moving sluggishly as he tried to understand. Their prolonged arrest, the continued visits, the looks, did she really…?

Marinette glared at the opposite wall, a hot flush climbing up her neck and reaching her ears. Plagg slowly tucked away his knife, unsure how to retreat as guilt tugged sharply at his heart. He only knew she could not see his hesitation.

Tikki would have cooed at the forbidden love story, gushing to Plagg how romantic it was and how the two were definitely made for each other. She would have rebuked him for ever intruding as they danced around each other, because how could he stop true love? He took a deep breath as he pushed the thoughts away, letting his cocky grin be his mask.

“Well now. That is interesting.” Plagg fixed his bowtie and dusted off his shirt. “Very interesting.”

Her glare shifted to worry as she turned to him. “You won’t tell him… will you?”

He snorted. “How about this, princess: You keep your mouth shut about this little… meeting, and he won’t hear a thing about your feelings.”

“...He doesn’t know you’re here.”

“And he won’t.” Plagg raised an eyebrow at her, grin turning dark. “Correct?”

Marinette flinched, slowly nodding her head. “R-Right.”

“Well then, my business here is done. But let me warn you…” He gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it to make her eyes meet his. “If you ever hurt my partner, you will have me to deal with, and I promise you will feel ten times the pain he’s in, understand?”

Marinette jerked her head out of his grip. “You were more threatening with a knife.” She wasn’t fighting or arguing, though, so Plagg figured his message went through. If not, he could always deal with her later. No one would get away with hurting Adrien on his watch. No one.

With a grin, he started toward the door. “Well, I’d better not keep you from your beauty rest. Goodnight, princess.”

“Marinette,” she snapped, narrowed eyes meeting his. “You do not get to call me princess.”

“My mistake, Marinette,” he cooed, bowing mockingly. “Sweet dreams.” Plagg shut the door behind him and left through the window, the pelting rain meaning nothing to him now. The guilt and shame from actually hurting her had fled, forgotten at her confession. Of all the possible plans he thought she may have had for Chat, actually caring for him had not been something Plagg had considered. He had been sure she was leading him on for something, trying to find out information she thought he had or get to someone else she thought he had connections to. Perhaps he had misjudged their relationship from the start, hadn’t noticed how close the two had grown over time. Of course he had seen Adrien falling, but Marinette?

Marinette, the one and only Ladybug, in love with Chat Noir? He was curious as to how this would play out. And if need be, well…

The police force could be quite interested about the traitor in their midst.

 

 

...Tikki would be so disappointed in him.


	14. Possessive Marinette

Chat Noir shuffled through the filing cabinet as quietly as possible, guessing that a person as careful as this - two alarm systems, separate locks with different keys on the windows and doors, a combination simply to get into the filing cabinet - would have some extra cash hidden away somewhere. He’d managed to find a few extra bills stuck under the dining room hutch, but the real stash would be hidden far better than that. Sure enough, in the far back of the second drawer, a large stack of bills were tucked away. Chat grinned and snatched up the money, placing it in his bag along with the previous bills and a few pieces of jewelry he’d found between the couch cushions. He’d chosen to ignore the plastic bags of white powder there as well.

Plagg couldn’t make it to this heist, claiming he had “business to take care of” before he ducked out of their hideout without another word. Chat wondered if this “business” had anything to do with the late night disappearances and mysteriously appearing bruises and gashes. The last time he caught Plagg wrapping up a wound he most certainly hadn’t gotten during any of their outings, though, Plagg had gotten defensive, yelling and cursing and telling him to mind his own business. It was strange, strange enough to worry Chat, and make him wonder.

Though he had never gone into details with Chat about why he needed the money so badly, Chat did know he owed quite a large sum and that almost all of Plagg’s share of their loot went to this anonymous person. He had guessed for some time now that the creditor was not of a kind, forgiving nature, which explained Plagg’s eagerness to pay back his debt as quickly as possible. Chat just wished he could do something to help. Were it not for his own problems, he would insist Plagg take the whole share.

After doing one last check around the house in case he had missed anything, Chat reset the alarms and slipped out the back window, his bag slipped around his shoulders as he clambered up to the roof. The height was freeing, the nightlife buzzing beneath him. Even so late, people were running around the streets, chatting amongst themselves. Car horns blared, bugs hummed, and music pumped from a few blocks down. He stood above it all, taking it in, looking over his city (for it was his, in one way or another). Chat took a deep breath, coughing for a moment from the scent of smoke filling his lungs. When he turned, covering his mouth, his eyes met bluebell ones behind a red mask.

“Chat Noir,” Ladybug hummed, placing a hand on her hip. She was missing the coy grin he had grown accustomed to whenever he saw her, like she knew something he didn’t. Instead, she appeared almost sad, a frown tugging down the corners of her lips.

He didn’t like that, curiosity making him quirk a brow, but he played along for now. “My Lady! What brings you here on a fine night such as this?”

The nickname made her stiffen, shoulders tense as her hand rested on her gun. Then it was gone, the hint of a smirk pulling at her lips. “Thought I saw a suspicious character. Turns out it was just an alley cat.” Before he could respond, she continued, growing far more serious. “Why are you doing this, Chat?”

It was his turn to freeze, emerald eyes flashing to hers in surprise. Nevertheless, he shook it off, barrelling ahead in their usual banter. “Are we on a first name basis now, my Lady? I’m afraid I never caught yours.”

Ladybug crossed her arms, ending the fun before it began. “This isn’t you. I don’t believe… I know this isn’t the type of person you are. Why are you doing this? What made someone like you turn to this?”

The hair on the back of his neck stood on edge, his playful grin curling into a scowl. What right did she have, acting like she understood him? “You don’t know me at all, Ladybug,” Chat spit angrily. “Don’t pretend you do. You know nothing about me.”

“Help me understand.” She took a step toward him, her outstretched hand like a dangling fishhook. It looked so innocent, so easy to take her hand and spill everything, as if she could answer all of his problems. But he knew that it was only a trap, for the moment he took her hand, she would slap on the handcuffs and ruin everything. All he had worked for would be lost. So he stepped back, snarling.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you? You think you can just act like you care, like you can understand me, and I’ll just give into your tricks. I’m not an idiot, Bug.”

“There’s no trick, I promise.” Ladybug continued stepping forward and him back, until his feet reached the edge of the roof. Her hand was still held out, and for a moment he was reminded of Marinette, offering her hand the other night after one of her favorite songs had come on the radio. Chat had taken her hand and led his princess around her living room in a slow dance. They had smiled and giggled at their missteps and trip-ups; he had teased her two left feet, and she had playfully scolded him for stepping on said feet. Her fingers had threaded through his perfectly; her outstretched hand had been a lifeline to his own little world of happiness.

Ladybug was nothing like Marinette.

Chat had people he cared about. He would not let her keep him from returning to those he loved. Something snapped, and he drew his gun. She didn’t notice at first, still trying to draw him into her trap.

“Please, Chat, this isn’t you, I know-”

“Shut up shut up shut up!” Chat surged forward, knocking her arm away and grabbing the front of her shirt, his gun pressed against her temple. “You don’t know me, and you never will! Stop pretending to care about me! Stop acting like I matter to you! I know I’m just your next case. I know this will end soon enough, but I’m not giving up so easily. You have no idea what I have at stake here!” His finger curled around the trigger, his hand shaking as her wide eyes meet his.

His heart stopped for a moment at the fear swimming in her eyes, the tears trickling down her cheeks. His grip was loose on her shirt; she could have easily pulled away if she wanted to. And yet she stood there, waiting for him to move, not putting up a fight. Ladybug was shaking as much as he was, but she didn’t knock the gun out of his hand, pin him to the ground, and end it here and now. Why wasn’t she stopping him? Did she not fear death?

Or did she simply trust him not to send her to her grave?

In that moment, he didn’t see the officer on his tail after his arrest. He didn’t see the cute cop he’d flirt with just to have a bit of fun. He didn’t see years behind bars.

He saw his princess, Marinette, peeking up at him with rosy cheeks and a stuffy nose as she hugged him, whispering that she missed him. He saw the woman he’d saved from being stabbed, who he hadn’t needed to think twice about stepping in front of despite what may happen, because he couldn’t bear to watch her get hurt. He saw his mother, holding his hand and telling him that she was proud of him no matter what. He saw an incomprehensible, unbelievable trust in her eyes, as if she knew that he would do the right thing, and he saw a woman he had grown to care for, as strange as it was.

Ladybug wasn’t Marinette, but she was late night banter and chases across the city. She was confident grins and a spike of adrenaline and meaningless flirts. She was freedom; she was the thrill of danger and recklessness. She was his Lady.

And he was holding a gun to her head.

With a ragged gasp, Chat reeled back, shoving his gun back in its holster. He trembled, staring at Ladybug with disbelief. What had he almost done?

Ladybug took a small step forward, opening her mouth to say something but he didn’t give her a chance to. Chat dropped his bag and kicked it towards her, shuddering and shaking as he tugged his hood further down on his head. She picked up the bag slowly, shooting him a confused look he didn’t catch as he rushed past her, scrambling off the roof and toward the streets below. He didn’t dare look back, shame and guilt slowly suffocating him, crushing his heart with the weight. He ignored Ladybug’s voice, echoing through the night, calling for him to come back, to wait. She was running after him, but she was too far behind and he was too good at blending into the darkness. He ran blindly, holding his hood close to his face, and disappeared from her sight. Her echoes carried on.

When he reached the hideout, he collapsed onto his cot and curled into a tight ball, letting the guilt rip him up from the inside out. Gut-wrenching sobs shook his body, tears streaming down his face and wetting his pillow. He cried for hours, wheezing like a dying man, choking on spit and snot and the taste of salt in his mouth.

Plagg found Adrien late that night, his right eye black and swollen. He pressed his lips into a thin line and stepped over to his kid, sighing through his nose. He had never been good with words, but he sat next to Adrien and touched his back. Plagg listened to Adrien’s whimpers, his claims that he was evil, a monster, how he deserved to be locked up and never let out because who held a gun at someone they cared about? He offered a tissue when the sobs at last turned to noisy snuffles and sniffles, frowning when he listened to Adrien explain what happened with a raw and broken voice. He was ashamed, he was horrified, and Plagg found himself lacking the proper words.

He couldn’t offer any advice, couldn’t reassure Adrien that he wasn’t the nightmare he thought he had become. He saw it in himself, after all, and only blamed himself for Adrien following his example. Even if he kept Adrien out of Hawkmoth’s reach, Plagg couldn’t protect him from what a life of crime would turn him into. He couldn’t prevent the corruption from taking away Adrien’s compassion and kindness and twisting it into selfishness and manipulation. His kid was blindly following in his footsteps, and there was nothing he could do. So Plagg stayed by Adrien’s side as he cried, offering his presence as comfort when he didn’t know what to say.

He wondered, had he not made that deal all those years ago, whether or not Adrien would have turned out better. He knew what Adrien was working so hard to save, why he was willing to risk everything, but even so, was it worth what he was becoming? He was no longer the sniveling sixteen year old he had found on the street. Adrien was his partner, his friend, the kid he had never had. And he had lead him into this life. Would it have been better if he’d never said a word?

No, he knows, because he’d give anything to have Adrien with him. He wouldn’t hurt Adrien like that. He didn’t know if the ends justified the means, but he believed he had made the right decision, even if they were changing for the worse.

“No matter what anyone says, kid,” Plagg murmured long after Adrien, exhausted from crying, had fallen asleep on his cot. “I’ll always be proud of the man you are, even if you don’t look like one by the end of this.”


	15. Costume Party

When Chat dropped by again, it was with a single red rose in his hand and a grin too small to mean anything good. Marinette silently watched him squeeze inside through the window, only raising an eyebrow when she saw the rose and hoping he didn’t see the color rising in her cheeks. After the confrontation with Plagg, she was increasingly aware of how every thought of Chat made her chest flutter, how his soft smile in her mind’s eye made her heart race, how he plagued her dreams with whispered affections and flirtations she had long been brushing off that now made her legs go weak. She was in love with Chat Noir, infamous cat burglar and her best friend, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Then that night happened. Marinette had caught him moving along the rooftops and gone up, not to catch him, of course - she cared about him too much to ever do that now - but to see if she could talk to him, understand why he was choosing to steal. He really was kind and thoughtful, not the typical type of person to turn to a life of thievery. If she knew the reason, maybe she could help him. Then he could stop this, and she wouldn’t have to worry so much anymore. Maybe he could start coming in through the front door instead.

She hadn’t been thinking. Of course Chat wouldn’t trust Ladybug. They made a nice game of cat and mouse together, but in all technicality, they were supposed to be enemies. He wouldn’t expect his enemy to know what he was really like. He wouldn’t expect his enemy to understand or care about what was going on in his personal life. She should’ve waited, should’ve asked him as Marinette, maybe then he wouldn’t have gotten so defensive, so angry, so… not himself.

She had never thought he’d pull a gun on her.

As scared as she had been, Marinette still trusted him. That was still Chat Noir, her Chat, the Chat she had grown to care for as a friend and then fallen in love with. Her Chat wasn’t a killer, heck, he teared up that one time he killed a fly by mistake. So while she had been scared, while tears had fallen down her cheeks, she didn’t run, she didn’t fight. She waited for her Chat to make the right choice.

She just wished that she hadn’t let him run away. He had looked so heartbroken…

At least he looked better now, as he closed the window behind him. Not the same as he usually did, of course - his chipper attitude had fallen somewhat - but he was better. Chat strolled over to Marinette and held out the flower, flashing her a soft, if weak, grin. “For you, my princess.”

Marinette felt her heart skip a beat at the nickname, ducking her head as she took the rose and sniffed it. “T-Thank you.”

His grin grew a little wider as he bowed dramatically, causing her to giggle at his antics. She waved him over, covering her mouth - and her blush - with one hand. “Okay, okay, sit down, Romeo.”

Chat settled beside her, stretching his arms above his head with a loud yawn. Marinette most certainly did not eye the patch of skin revealed as his hoodie rose a few inches when he stretched, and her blush most certainly did not turn a few shades darker at what she may or may not have seen. Unfortunately, Chat caught her stare, shooting her a knowing smirk before she hurriedly looked away.

“Why, princess, if you wanted to ogle, you only needed to sa-”

“I was not ogling!” Marinette yelped, covering her face. “I wasn’t even looking!”

Chat laughed, settling an arm around her shoulders. “Whatever you say.”

After a moment, Marinette looked up again, almost missing the fond look he was giving her when her face was hidden, though it was quickly gone when he realized she was looking. While her heart would have been in a better condition had she not seen it, knowing he looked at her like that certainly wasn’t going to keep her from falling even more so for him, or help the dark blush staining her cheeks to fade.

“Do you bring roses to all your princesses?” she murmured, leaning against him. She knew she was the only one, but she would still tease him every so often. Chat Noir would always be quite the ladies’ man in her mind, no matter how much of a gentleman the boy she’d grown to know him to be really was.

He hummed, shifting a little so she was more comfortable. “Only those that are especially pretty.”

She was growing increasingly annoyed by how easily it had become for him to draw a blush out of her. It wasn’t at all fair and would only inflate his ego. Still, Marinette hid her flushed face in his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat and his soft breaths as they sat together. “Always the flirt…”

Chat hummed again, his fingers sifting through her hair. Slowly Marinette lifted her head once more, looking up and noticing the frown pulling at his lips. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze met hers and the frown was gone, replaced by something so soft that it about gutted her. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Marinette puffed out a cheek, her fingers trailing over his side where she knew a scar - the scar he had because of her - marred his skin. “...I’m worrying.”

Chat had no idea just how much she worried. How she thought about his home life, if he was safe where he was. On chillier nights she would worry if he were cold or if he had enough blankets to keep himself warm, on rainy nights she’d wonder if he had a roof over his head, on nights she heard gunshots… she didn’t sleep very well. She’d worry if he had enough to eat, or if he had gotten himself sick or hurt while he was away. It was a relief to see him return to her home, or to just catch a glimpse of him as Ladybug. A weight would be lifted from her shoulders because at least at home she could keep him safe, warm, and happy.

More recently Marinette had thought about his reason for stealing. The Chat she knew, despite everything, wasn’t really a thief. So why would he do such a thing? Was he being forced? Did he need something? Plagg had seemed to care for him, but was it just an act?

“I worry a lot, you know.”

Chat sighed, pushing back his hood as he ran a hand through his hair. “I… I haven’t been myself lately.” He hesitated, his gaze meeting hers. He must have seen something shimmering in her blue eyes - concern, understanding, something soft and warm and adoring? - because he continued, “And I wonder… I worry if… when this is all over, what will myself be? I mean, who will I be, really? Am I just Chat Noir now?”

She frowned, her voice giving away how much she disapproved of the way his train of thought had gone. “Just Chat Noir?”

Chat snorted, shrugging one shoulder. “You know, just a thief. Some criminal who steals because he can and… and hurts innocent people.”

So that was what was bothering him. At least he didn’t insist on wearing a mask in front of her, hiding how he really felt. At least with Marinette he was honest, so she would lose the mask too, to a certain extent.

She wasn’t... quite ready to admit everything to him yet. But she would let her real concern show. He was her best friend first and foremost, and he needed to know that.

“But you don’t hurt innocent people, Chat,” she murmured softly, taking one of his hands in hers. “I know you wouldn’t.”

His brow furrowed. “What makes you so sure?”

Marinette rested her head on his shoulder, quietly tracing shapes against his palm. “Because I know you. You’re a dork, and you can be sweet and thoughtful, and the biggest flirt I’ve ever met. But you’re not a mean person. You’re not cruel. You wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Chat didn’t look convinced. “I… Marinette, I need to tell you…” His voice trailed off as he looked away, unwilling to meet her gaze. She could see the shame reflected in his face, and it almost made her reach for him, smooth away the wrinkle in his brow with a soft kiss and a whisper that it didn’t matter what he may have done, she knew him and she trusted him, her Chat Noir.

Almost.

After a moment, Chat continued, his voice broken and shaky. “I… I almost shot Ladybug. I-I almost, I mean.. My gun was against her head and I… I didn’t want to kill her, o-or hurt her, but she was different, y’know? I-I got scared, and I… almost..” He broke off with a sob, tears slipping down his cheeks. Marinette quickly wrapped her arms around him, her heart pounding at the thought of that night but determined to reassure him.

“You didn’t hurt her, did you?” she whispered.

He shook his head, his arms settling around her waist. “N-No, I couldn’t, I..”

“Then I was right.” She smiled softly at him. “You were scared, you didn’t make the best choice, but you didn’t hurt her because that’s not you. No matter what happens, no matter why you’re doing this, I know you’re a good person, deep down. That hoodie doesn’t define you. Chat Noir doesn’t define you. And it won’t when this is over.”

Chat swallowed thickly, a wobbly smile tugging at his lips. “Y-You think so, princess?”

She flashed him a soft grin, gently wiping away his tears and missing the color that rose in his cheeks at each brush of her fingers against his skin. “I know so. Don’t you forget it, either.”

He gave a watery laugh, pulling her into a tight hug. Marinette settled her arms around his neck, relaxing into his embrace. His shoulders shook a little, but she pretended not to notice, silently stroking his hair as they held each other. At least she could assure him of this, without a trace of doubt. At least he trusted Marinette to tell her his fears, his worries, to let her see him be vulnerable… maybe..

“Hey, Chat?” she murmured a while after he had settled. Chat raised his head to look at her, his face flushed - from the tears or something else, she wasn’t sure.

“Hm?”

If he wouldn’t tell Ladybug, surely he would tell his princess? Even if he didn’t feel as she did, surely he would trust her enough to let her know what was going on? Maybe then she could help him, maybe then she wouldn’t have to keep up her own charade in front of him and would remove her mask, all of it. Maybe then she could tell him how she felt about him. Taking a deep breath, Marinette asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, um…

“Why are you doing this?”


End file.
